This is the way I pray
by LazerTH
Summary: Zakum makes a deal with the Angel of Death to be freed from his fiery prison. The destruction and death he brings forces the heroes of Maple to confront him and the Messenger of Death while the Harlequin watches on.
1. Release

This is the way I pray

by LazerTH

The stone façade broke apart, and Zakum was defeated for the millionth time. He was getting really tired of getting his ancient demonic rear kicked by a bunch of kids whose lifespan on this mortal coil could be measured in double digits.

"**If only I could escape again," **he rumbled to himself after the adventurers looted his treasure and scampered off to divide the spoils. But he could _not _escape again; he had been sealed once more, irrevocably, by the Harlequin, that dark master of the forbidden runes. He was sealed in this torturous prison of stone, fire and metal, his spirit bound to the Zakum Tree that dropped its deadly fruit, the Eye of Fire.

Every day, he was summoned by adventurers whose numbers overwhelmed his arcane magic. Magic! Reduced to a flailing magician! How he longed to hold his axe again! Every day, they broke him to pieces and looted his remains, and every day, the forbidden runes inscribed upon his body by the Harlequin regenerated his stone prison. It would go on day after day after day, destruction and rebirth, each 'death' as painful as the last. Occasionally a stupid adventurer or two would wander inside, curious, and he would feast upon their souls, but they were as drops of soothing water in this everlasting lake of fire.

"**Freedom," **he prayed to whatever god would listen.

And that day, a god replied.

"_Zakum," _a voice purred in his ear. The demon started from his deep brooding.

"**Who speaks the name of Zakum?"**

"_I have many names. Do you know what it is like to be in Paradise, and then be cast into Hell?"_

"**Hell? Heaven? I was once king and god over this mortal world, only to be cast down to this infernal prison!" **Zakum gnashed his rocky teeth.

"_Close enough,"_ the voice murmured, _"I offer you that freedom again, _if_ you will serve me."_

"**I serve neither mortal nor god!"**

"_I will not be denied."_

The Presence opened its mind for but one second to Zakum, and what the immortal demon felt in that instant shook him to the core.

_Darkness._ Darkness more terrible than Zakum's mind had ever dreamt or imagined. Zakum may have lorded over the single world of Maple, but this terrible Presence seemed to touch every sphere in the universe, seeping into every crack of the cosmos, enveloping the stars themselves in its shroud. But even more horrific than its infinite darkness was the insurmountable fury and hatred boiling within this Presence. It was a loathing that grew and grew, made eternal by its eternal separation from the divine source of its birth. It was this hatred, borne in lonely exile, which shocked Zakum to silence.

"_However," _the deceptively calm voice interrupted Zakum's astonishment, _"It seems you prefer enslavement. Very well; I shall leave you."_

Zakum felt the Presence recede, and cried out, **"Stay."**

"_Ah," _the voice chuckled, _"So you _are_ desperate."_

"**I will… serve you," **Zakum bit out the words, wrenching servitude from his twisted soul, **"Only free me, so that I may rend the heavens and the earth in vengeance!"**

The Presence laughed at him. It was snide, mocking, making him, the mighty Zakum, feel small.

"_Your obedience is welcome, _little_ demon. Messenger? Free him."_

A tremor shook the foundations of the dungeon. The ceiling split apart with a resounding _CRACK _the same time the lava and rock below Zakum heaved upward.

El Nath's volcano erupted Zakum in a terrific spray of magma, a display befitting his return. As the demon fell, the Surge and Seal runes imprisoning his true form faded away. So great was the eruption that Zakum hit the ground just outside El Nath. His true form, unbound by Harlequin runes, was a humanoid of angelic stature; well over thirty feet tall, with flames for skin and smoke for clothing. His eight arms had fused into two, and now they reached inside his body to pull forth his dread double-bladed axe, its cruel edges forged from the very fire of his being. With his awesome weapon slung over one shoulder, Zakum breathed the wintry air of freedom, and as he exhaled his fiery breath turned a few houses to ash.

"**With my freedom comes the freedom of my minions! Let chaos rage through the lands!" **Zakum thundered, casting a summoning spell.

888

Mike was dozing off on guard duty, as usual. Since he could remember, not one monster had bothered to emerge from the fetid depths of Victoria Island's dungeon. The only things that came in and out were adventurers seeking their fortune or looking for good training grounds. Despite this, Mike had to stand in front the dungeon all day and all night, wearing full plate armour in the sweltering heat between Perion's valley walls. The fire boars roaming the area ignored him, since he had been standing there before they were born.

Over the years his nose learnt to ignore the foul stench of his sweat rusting the armour he wore. He had no wife to complain about it, nor did he have children to look up to him, wishing they could be cool like their dad, trapped in a pressure cooker of his own bodily fluids.

But, a job was a job. He had nothing better to do with his life.

Years ago, his brother Luke expressed a desire to travel, but to this day Luke remained where he was, guarding the Henesys dungeon entrance, conning warriors into getting him all sorts of expensive, rare stuff in exchange for his old junk helmets! Mike could care less. What was Luke going to spend money on, a shiny new suit of armour to rust in? A new pole arm, perhaps? The man slept on the job all day, just like his brother Mike, both made sleepy by the heat. At least they had perfected sleeping with their eyes open, so that Dances with Balrog and Athena Pierce suspected nothing.

In exchange for the scorching sun, the moon brought a cold night. Mike was too busy nodding off to notice the pebbles dancing underfoot while every fire boar in the area fled, leaving the dungeon entrance in utter blackness. With the swiftness of a storm, the Junior Balrog, accompanied by stampeding underlings, charged out of the dungeon. Mike heard the inhumanly heavy footsteps and, thinking a Drake had strayed from its dinner table in the dungeon below, adopted an aggressive stance, spiky polearm quivering in the frosty air.

"Who goes there!?"

A Taurospear hefted its much, much bigger spear and poked the helmet right off of Mike who stood there blinking stupidly in the darkness.

"Huh? Who did that?"

The Junior Balrog huffed out one flaming breath, allowing Mike to see the large collection of dragons, minotaurs and the Balrog itself standing around him.

"Oh shi-" was all Mike could manage before the Balrog swung its claws at him, shattering his heavy armour like glass.

888

Junior Balrog and its entourage trampled the defenses of Perion, sending Blackbull and Ayan scurrying for cover while Junior Balrog rained flaming rocks from the sky, turning night into hellish day. Drakes chased Mr. Wang through the streets, scattering his precious storage items. While Arturo and Sophia barricaded the door to their potions shop, River and Harry, the weapon and armour store proprietors, came charging out of their shop wearing the special armour everyone who visited them could look at but not touch. They hacked and smashed Drakes into the dirt, much to Mr. Wang's relief. Meanwhile, Mr. Smith and Mr. Thunder, using the massive upper body strength of their blacksmithing trade, held their own against the giant minotaurs with great sweeping blows from their gigantic sledges. Dances with Balrog, of course, was facing the creature he was named after.

"I defeated you in the past, and I can do so again," he boasted, hefting the fearful Gaea axe behind his grinning demon shield. Junior Balrog snorted, and cast Meteo.

Dances with Balrog was struck square on the noggin by the space rock. He wobbled a bit.

"You dishonour yourself with a sneak attack!"

In response, Junior Balrog cast another Meteo that hit the same spot. A lump was forming through the proud warrior's oily black hair.

"How dare you!" he said, though slurred, "My father and his father before him would never tolerate…"

Hailing from the depths of space, another rock scored a bull's-eye on Sitting Bull's lump (that was his nickname, since all he did nowadays was sit around waiting for someone to pester him about job advancement). He was staggering, now.

"You fowr d'mon! Ah'll kill you…"

A fourth blast from outer space, and the concussion was deep seated, forcing Dances with Balrog into unconsciousness despite his bravado. The Balrog snorted a second time and trudged off to find something else to crush.

888

He watched his hometown burn. From his vantage point on the highest crag short of the Warrior Temple, Manji watched the flames rise. Through them he caught glimpses of sweat steaming off the hardened, but tiring muscles of the blacksmiths as they crushed one minotaur after the other. River and Harry had taken shelter with Mr. Wang inside Arturo and Sophia's potions shop, so the Drakes were trying to butt in through the door. But what made him more furious, made the bile rise to his throat, was the sight of the Balrog stomping through _his town._

To the surprise of adventurers and NPC's everywhere, Manji took one flying leap off his cliff to land at the feet of the Balrog. Neither visitor nor resident of Perion had ever seen Manji so much as turn his head to look at them. The reticent hermit now stood there, wood weave hat bowed as usual, but this time one slim hand was upon the hilt of his katana.

"Living my life was not hard enough. The memory of you burns me alive inside. You took everything away."

With a contemptuous snort, the Balrog called Meteo from the heavens.

It missed, burrowing into the ground, leaving ashes in the air. The Balrog opened one glowing red eye in surprise. The little samurai was not standing where he had been a half-second ago…

Manji was floating above him, katana buried hilt-deep between the astonished and staring eyes of the Balrog.

"I watched the light die in my hero's eyes, and now in memory of him, the great hero Tristan, I will watch the light die in yours."

Manji tore his vengeful blade from the Balrog's skull, and the ensuing spurt of black blood stained his kimono as the Balrog fell dead at his feet with a great crash.

When Manji approached them, the dragons and minotaurs smelt the Balrog's blood on him, and they fled, leaving Perion to burn, leaving the fire smoldering in Manji's eyes.


	2. Masteria

The continent of Masteria, just off the coast of Victoria Island, was home to New Leaf City, run by its self-proclaimed mayor, Icebyrd Slimm. The mayor, wearing a dark suit and sporting a neat goatee beneath his bald dome, had not always been popular, rich or successful. He had been born Austrich Gaylord, a lowly archaeologist who, as a young man, happened across ancient literature of a doomed civilization. It took him months of study to estimate coordinates, but every calculation ended in the same patch of open, empty ocean. However, a quick scuba dive revealed a mysterious underwater city. The place was no good to Austrich as it was; it would just become a tourist attraction and he'd just be hired as a tour guide. He had bigger dreams; dreams of his own city. So, Austrich had sought the one person that could raise cities from the sea – the Harlequin.

It required all his resources and more than a few run-ins with unsavoury individuals, but Austrich found the Harlequin two years later, buried in a snow valley outside El Nath. Despite every warning from Alcaster to let the dead lie, Austrich did what he did best and dug up an old fossil. It was like any other human skeleton, except this one wore a harlequin mask; half black, half white, with a joker's grin and one eyehole.

And the eyehole glowed.

"What do you want?" the mask turned to look at Austrich, causing the big black man to jump, frightened of a pile of bones. For a skeleton, its voice was remarkably resonant.

"I… I want you to raise the sunken continent, Masteria. I'll do anything, anything."

The Harlequin rattled to its bony feet.

"I sank that continent. In exchange for performing that task, I ate the person's soul. Shall I eat yours?"

Austrich turned white.

"I'll be your follower! Your servant, slave, anything! I just want to claim that land as my own!"

The Harlequin stared at him.

"A follower you shall be. Do you want Masteria raised today?"

Austrich swallowed hard.

"Yes. You can start your work today. H- How long will it take? Ten years? Twenty?" he asked hopefully. The joker's grin seemed to widen.

"When I say _today, _I do mean _this very day. _Go to the place where you will build your city. Leave me to sleep here."

Obeying the masked skeleton, Austrich hurried back to Orbis and took an airship to Ellinia of Victoria Island. He informed the officials of Sixtopia, Ellinia's airship dock, that a 'major event' would be occurring in the sea, and gave them coordinates. From there he took a taxi to Lith Harbour, and hired out Vikin's ship to carry him to the oceanic coordinates where Masteria would be.

Lying in the same snowdrift he had risen from, the Harlequin lifted a skeletal finger and drew runes in midair, each rune drawn with precise, glimmering blue lines of light.

"Ever."

It was a long vertical line, ending in an arrowhead of a perfect equilateral triangle. The motion of the Harlequin's hands seemed mechanical to produce such neat lines, but they belied a grace beyond the grasp of the grave.

"Never."

A circle bisected by a horizontal line that tapered off the left and right.

"Forever."

A circle; a line without beginning or end.

"Phase."

A never-ending inward spiral. Upon completion of the rune word, the Harlequin spoke it:

"_Raise what was lost."_

Aboard Vikin's ship, with one of Sixtopia's airships hovering above, Austrich noticed the sea around them _rising. _The body of water – stretching from horizon to horizon - was heaving upward to a mountainous height. Vikin and his crew were panicking; battening down the hatches should their ship capsize. Aboard the airship, camera crews were practically hanging off the sides of the ship to record the scoop of the millennium. On the sea bed, a continental plate was rebuilding itself from the molten mantle upward, shrugging the sea off its shoulders. As Austrich and company gaped, the sea around them parted and Vikin's ship came to rest atop a mountain peak. The airship was still circling above, looking for a place to land.

Gazing out at the ancient land, Austrich figured that the sea would swamp the continent entirely, and it would take years to drain the salt water, but to his wonderment, everywhere the sea was receding, jumping _out_ of valleys and leaping _from_ riverbeds, spurred by the supreme power of the rune word. Where the sea retreated, the ruins still held their buildings; the forests still had their trees, the shoreline still held its sand; everything was untouched from the moment it had been buried by the Harlequin.

Masteria lay open to the sun once more, pristine and dry, as though the devouring sea had never swept past its shores.

"Great is the mystery of the Harlequin's art," Austrich whispered while he and Vikin's crew made ready to disembark. The airship was waiting for them in the prairie at the foot of the mountain, and soon Austrich was ambushed by reporters asking him "how he had done it". Austrich just smiled, and announced his plans to build a city upon the ruins of Olde Sapp village, somewhere near the centre of Masteria.

Austrich was in his forties by the time New Leaf City was finished. He had brought with him his closest friends to be the city administrators. Adventurers far and wide took the undersea subway from Kerning city to New Leaf, and Austrich Gaylord, figuring that the mayor of a slick new suburb should have a 'hip' name, changed his name to Icebyrd Slimm, although he was a very stout, very bald man with little plumage to speak of other than his expensive suit and bling.

Icebyrd Slimm would soon know the price of being a follower of the Harlequin, because Masteria was where Zakum, unfettered from the Harlequin's runes, made his first stop.

888

It was in the midst of New Leaf City, in a roiling cloud of smoke and fire, that the dread lord of shadow and flame, Zakum, appeared, his very presence causing the concrete underfoot to melt. He slung his gigantic double-edged axe over his shoulder, cursing the sweet air.

"**Soon this city and this land will fall into ruin. I will bless its inhabitants with death!"**

While Jack Masque fled, Zakum approached Icebyrd, whose knees were knocking together.

"**You are a follower of the Harlequin! I defy the Harlequin, and shall DESTROY all his works and all his followers! This city will not be sunk again, but shall die by FIRE!"**

Zakum swung his axe to the sky, and brought it slicing down again, its blade afire from the speed of its descent. While Icebyrd braced himself for death, he was knocked out of the way by Lita Lawless - the sheriff of New Leaf, but Zakum's axe was too swift, chopping through her right arm and leg before she could escape herself.

"LITA!" he screamed, forgetting his fear of the king demon to run to her bleeding side. There was so much blood! Everyone else had run off.

"Icebyrd," she whispered, her face turning white while her wild hair was dyed red, "You should l– live. Tell the Dark Lord I – I'm sor-"

Her last words were cut off by death. Icebyrd was too shocked to react. Zakum raised his axe once more.


	3. Genesis

Zakum's menacing presence had not gone unnoticed. In the magical library of Ellinia, home of the late wise man Grendel, the bishop dropped his reading material and stood up. The small crowd of magician hopefuls looked up from their studies to their very worried teacher, who was cocking his head, as though listening to some unheard warning.

"Zakum. In _Masteria?_ But the Harlequin sealed him!"

Then he heard the screams outside.

"Class is dismissed for today," he announced to the now murmuring beginners, "Stay inside here where it is safe!"

He teleported through the wall and saw shadows of airships flying overhead. The fairies, elves and human residents of Ellinia were scurrying shouting for cover, pointing at the sky. The bishop peered through the leafy canopy at moving shadows above.

"Why aren't those airships at the Sixtopia boarding platform?" he demanded from one of the frantic fairies, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"Those aren't _our_airships!" she squealed. The bishop let her go so he could teleport to the highest treetop in Ellinia: the same tree where the magical library was housed.

"My God."

A fleet of airships, wicked spikes sprouting from their hulls, was flying in formation over his beloved treetop city. Far more frightening than the airships, however, were their commanders: winged balrogs; the bane of the skies, sporting skull helms and plate armour over their shaggy, powerfully muscled bodies.

"Crimson Balrogs."

These balrogs, far mightier than their junior cousin of Victoria Island's dungeon, descended upon Ellinia in a swarm, casting their black magic to destroy and pillage wherever they went. The fairies were powerless against their superior numbers, and could do naught but retreat or die.

"Why is this happening?" the bishop wondered, feeling the icy hand of fear clutching at his throat. "Zakum must be behind this!"

Yet he could not divide his attention between the two threats. So he whispered to the wind.

"_Manji…"_

The samurai, who was helping Ayan evacuate Perion's citizens from the burning city to the mountainsides, heard the bishop's whisper.

"_The Junior Balrog just incinerated my city," _Manji replied. The bishop frowned. How had something so significant gone unnoticed by his astral senses? Was Zakum's presence clouding everything?

"_Zakum has appeared in New Leaf City," _the bishop informed the samurai,_"With his appearance, Crimson Balrogs suddenly began looting Ellinia in numbers. I've never seen this many."_

Manji grit his teeth._"I will bring help."_

"_Thank you, my friend. I will deal with Zakum."_

Thus said, the bishop phased out of Ellinia in a flash of blue light.

888

Just outside Kerning city, Chun Ji was talking smack to a hapless rogue newbie when he heard the soft, subtle footsteps of wooden sandals. He hadn't heard that sound in years, but he complained about their owner on a daily basis, constantly comparing himself to anyone who would listen.

"Manji!" he rounded on the fellow samurai, "You insult me with your presence. Leave."

"I cannot defeat the Crimson Balrogs alone," Manji stated, ignoring the childish dismissal, "They are destroying Ellinia, and Kerning is minutes away from the same fate if they are left unchecked."

"Bah! Even if what you say is true, the Dark Lord can defend Kerning well enough. Why should I leave here?"

"You crave recognition? Then come with me. Stop pretending that Tristan's death didn't affect you."

At that challenge, Chun Ji drew his blade.

"You dare speak his name after all these years of silence?"

Manji glowered at him.

"Have you been practicing your swordplay? The people of Ellinia need us!"

In response, Chun Ji seemed to disappear and reappear directly behind Manji, swinging his blade at the other samurai's back. But the blow never landed, as Manji had already positioned his blade behind his back, deflecting the blow without even turning around.

"He liked you best," was Chun Ji's bitter accusation, sheathing his sword. Manji slowly turned to face his rival.

"No," Manji said, looking into Chun Ji's eyes, letting the fellow samurai see the honest pain there, "He saw more potential in _you, _Chun Ji. He spent more time with me because I was weak – I needed the training. He never admitted it to you, but I knew, even more so when he died, that _you_ were meant to be his replacement."

Stunned speechless, Chun Ji could do nothing but stare and listen further.

"Since his death, you thought that mourning would make you seem weak. So you didn't shed a tear, and became bitter instead, hating me and hating _him _every living moment. I tell you, only your bitterness makes you weak. Because of it, you stand here all day, with your little banner, talking down to those of lesser ability to make yourself feel better or stronger. Let go of it, and realize that you are needed."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Chun Ji whispered.

"You never asked. Are you coming or not?"

Chun Ji stared at the ground.

"We'll never get there in time on foot."

Manji blinked.

"There's this wonderful new invention called a taxi cab. It's how I got here. Come let me show you what a fare is."

888

Following the seething darkness through the astral plane, the bishop reappeared on a building overlooking the street where Zakum stood. The demon's very body was a raging inferno, testament to his millennia of imprisonment in El Nath's volcano. When the bishop saw whom Zakum was attacking, he blinked from the building, grabbed Icebyrd's hand and blinked out with him, both reappearing a hundred yards from where Zakum's axe split the ground, causing an earthquake that shook nearby buildings from their foundations. The demonic lord, once ruler of the Maple World, shook his fist at the bishop who, with the Harlequin, had foiled his attempts to overthrow the planet less than ten years before.

"_**YOU!"**_

"Yes, me," the bishop breathed. Lita's mutilated body, thrown from the axe blast, lay nearby. The bishop murmured a short prayer for her soul and then turned to Icebyrd.

"I can't resurrect her body; it's been torn apart and she'd just bleed to death again. Leave her - get out of the city. Save as many as you can. I will deal with him."

While Icebyrd scurried away on his stubby legs, Lita's murder numbing his mind, the bishop gave Zakum his full attention.

"How did you break the Harlequin's Seal?"

"**I have friends in dark places," **the demon rumbled, darkening the sky with his fell voice, **"Beyond this world, the true master of death sent a Messenger to set me free, to prepare the world for His coming."**

The bishop had seen too many strange and fantastic things in his lifetime to contradict Zakum's ominous revelation. Moreover, the demon was uncharacteristically reverent, a quality that seemed impossible for a being of his hubris to possess.

"Then let _him_ come," the mortal bishop replied, "And let him send his Messenger. We, the people of Maple, will respond in kind."

"**Hah," **Zakum boomed, **"He does not respond to kindness, neither does He know mercy or compassion. His mind touched mine for but an instant, and in that moment I glimpsed eternity… an eternity of death!"**

The bishop sighed.

"Dying is easy, Zakum. Living is hard."

The mortal raised his staff of gnarled wood.

"Leave, demon, and trouble the world of Maple no more, lest the Harlequin return to exact retribution."

Zakum visibly flinched at that name above all names, but nevertheless began to cast a spell whose words were so potent that their runic symbols appeared visibly in glowing violet light around him.

"**I may now be a servant, but I can at least destroy **_**you, **_**Harlequin follower!**** MEGIDDO!**_**"**_

Zakum completed the spell. Rushing wind shattered windows and uprooted street signs while a burning shadow smothered the sun. The bishop looked up, but the street where he stood ignited, the flash fire flaring outward like ripples on a pond. Cloaked in shadow and flame, Megiddo fell in dark and terrible majesty.

The street and most of the surrounding buildings – Bigger Ben, the Yeti Sphinx and Maple Tower - were swallowed up its fury, heaving tidal waves of crushed concrete, melting metal and dust to the clouds.

"**BURN!"**

The flames rose up, the darkness overpowered, but the healer was no longer a weakling. Out of the palling doom a piercing light shot to the heavens, blasting away the flames with holy fire!

"_LET ME ENLIGHTEN YOU!"_

The light became blinding, but blazing through its incandescence were the furious eyes of the bishop!

"_THIS IS THE WAY I PRAY."_

Shadow and flame were banished, leaving the bishop bathing in the dreadful glory of celestial wrath. His hands were clasped in prayer, defying the supreme magic of Zakum!

"**DIE AND DISAPPEAR!"**

Cursing thus, Zakum lifted his great axe, swinging it through the air, its fiery double-edged blade meant to cleave the mortal in half.

But justice is a force that contends with gods _and _mortals alike.

"_INVINCIBLE!"_ the bishop shouted, and the holy cross, infused with energies beyond the scope of magic itself, blasted the dread axe aside as though it were a stray leaf, causing Zakum himself to stagger.

"I am not an insect to be crushed under your heel, thrice-damned demon," the bishop thundered, "For now I understand that you are a nuisance, and the_ real_ threat lies elsewhere!"

"**It is not possible for a mortal to wield so much energy," **Zakum protested, **"It breaks every magical law! How is it…?"**

But then he saw it, a symbol from his nightmares, drawn in the same shimmering blue light that had damned him to darkness and fiery agony for millennia.

A Harlequin rune. _One_ symbol from the magical code that constructed creation was emblazoned on the bishop's staff.

"_**Another one?"**_ Zakum shouted in alarm, backing away, **"No! How can **_**one**_** mortal draw **_**TWO?"**_

"By understanding," sneered the bishop, "What you, in your ignorance, have failed to realize!"

"**I am a **_**god!" **_Zakum clutched his head, shaking it from side to side in disbelief, **"What is hidden from me?"**

The bishop, his hands clasped in almighty prayer, stated very quietly, "There is another and higher life to come."

Zakum, enraged by his shameful delay, began casting again, sinister runes appearing on his arms.

"**I will destroy this land and you with it! **_**MEGIDDO!"**_

"I beg to differ!_GENESIS!"_

The sky parted for Megiddo, but as the planet-crusher fell, the seraphim arrayed in the majesty of highest heaven appeared, her four wings bearing aloft the titanic weight of Megiddo with the grace and poise of a dancer performing a curtsy to her audience.

"**Unbelievable!"**Zakum roared, screaming curses at the seraphim that blithely ignored the foul demon.

"Nothing is impossible," the bishop stated with preternatural composure, "That is what the Harlequin taught me."

Vowing revenge, tribulation and damnation, Zakum disappeared in a flash of fire, leaving behind the bitter ashes of his defeat. Above, the seraphim misted away with Megiddo, the two supreme magical forces canceling each other out. Breath whooshed from the exhausted bishop as he leaned on his staff, the Change rune fading from it.

"Disaster averted."


	4. Balrogs

Sensing the presence of others outside the city, the bishop teleported to them. Jack Masque, Professor Foxwit, John Barricade and the mall workers were all there, gathered around their mayor. The bishop addressed them.

"Zakum has fled – for now. Icebyrd, Zakum's first attack obliterated the city hub, taking Lita's body with it. I'm sorry you couldn't bury her."

"I loved her," Icebyrd despaired, staring at her blood on his hands, _"I loved her, _and I never told her."

The bishop frowned.

"You told me, after I did a few jobs for the city, that you made a deal with someone to raise Masteria from the ocean. It was the Harlequin, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I paid next to nothing; I just became his follower."

The bishop lowered his head.

"So instead, he took away what you valued above your own life."

Icebyrd's weeping eyes looked at the bishop.

"But it was Zakum who killed Lita…"

The wind stirred, bringing the Harlequin's voice.

"_You do not make a deal with ME for free, Icebyrd. As my follower, I own what you value the most. You missed your opportunity to taste her, but _I_ haven't. Lita's soul tastes like chocolate."_

Horror marked Icebyrd's face. He turned, looking for the masked skeleton, but only to find the disgusted and horrified faces of those he called friends.

"Demon! Give her back!" he shouted to the breeze.

"_I have received my payment in full. Her soul belongs with _me _now, and when you die, you will be with her – _inside_ of _me."

The bishop withdrew from the scene. The last he saw, as he turned away, was Icebyrd being restrained by John Barricade and Jack Masque. The mayor had lost his mind, and was screaming impotent curses at the unseen Harlequin.

"What will you take from me?" the bishop wondered.

"_Oh, only your soul, when you die. You signed the contract the moment you drew that first rune, all those years ago…"_

"What will be, will be," the bishop shrugged, "Now, to check on Ellinia!"

Thus said, the bishop vanished.

888

The taxi cab deposited the samurai in the middle of the besieged forest village and screeched off to find safer fare. Manji and Chun Ji walked quietly through the midst of chaos, their sharp eyes darting to follow the great furry demons that were vandalizing homes and terrorizing fairies.

"I'll take their wings," Chun Ji said, "You handle their teeth."

Manji drew his sword.

"Together again."

Chun Ji thumbed the blade out of its sheath.

"For there is no greater purpose than this."

The nearest crimson balrog was busy chasing Francois around. The squealing elf, maker of weapons and armour, was tripping over his own blonde hair and blue robes, the crooked wizard's hat bouncing jauntily on his head. He turned every now and then to throw an arc staff, or a boot, or some silly thing he had made at the crimson balrog, which just became angrier, roaring at him. They pounced on it, Chun Ji mercilessly cutting the giant black bat wings off its shoulders while Manji slashed the bone helm apart, unseating the still-snarling head from its thick neck.

"Oh, oh dear heavens," Francois gasped asthmatically, falling to the ground, "I peed my robes."

"Too much information," Chun Ji complained, and beckoned for Manji to stop picking up the elf's scattered inventory and help with the balrogs. They used their tactic to great effect, Chun Ji's superior speed landing him like a hornet on many a balrog's back, and while the beast was flailing with torn wings, Manji used the distraction and his superior strength to behead one after the other.

Unfortunately for the two of them, the winged balrogs took heed and organized themselves against the threat, using their dark magic to drive the samurai back.

"We cannot fight them if they attack us in numbers," Chun Ji yelled above the arcane explosions they were dodging. Manji said nothing, just kept running, casting his eyes around Ellinia for some kind of help. But the inhabitants had fled, the balrogs no longer chasing them but the samurai.

"We must retreat. Ellinia is lost," Manji advised, resigned to the fact of defeat. They would not die as Tristan had, defending others, but rather live to fight another day. While Chun Ji followed his friend into the sanctuary of the forest, a chiding voice drifted among the trees.

"Giving up so easily?"

A veritable storm of throwing stars slashed through leaves and bark, shredding three of the balrogs chasing the samurai. The balrog horde stopped, confused and vengeful at the unseen enemy. With a puff of smoke, the Dark Lord of Kerning appeared before the samurai, cloaked in midnight, arms folded, disapproving eyes staring at them from under his forehead protector.

"Master," Chun Ji said, dropping to one knee.

"Rise, boy. No thief works alone."

The Dark Lord pointed, and the samurai turned to see Dances With Balrog swinging on a vine, a mighty battle cry echoing from his throat, as he beheaded a balrog with his Gaea axe.

"My head is harder than I thought," he said, knocking the bumps around his feathered crown. He gestured with his axe, and the samurai looked up to see arrows raining from the heavens. The horde of balrogs screamed in pain and alarm as their wings were collectively shredded. Far above them, balancing with one foot upon a treetop, Athena Pierce plucked her bowstring a second time, transfixing four balrogs at once, the arrows neatly driven between their eyes.

"Come, my friends, and let us show these balrogs how we drove their ancestors out!" she cried.

Ellinia's leaves dripped black blood that day. The sight and stench of a dead army of demons greeted the bishop as he returned home. Throwing stars and arrows studded almost every corpse. Rolling heads plagued the otherwise lush green forest floor.

"Oh! Dear God, did you have to be so _messy?" _the bishop said. The three other wise men and the samurai shrugged.

"What of Zakum?" Manji enquired.

"Ran away like a spanked child. He mentioned something about a 'master of death' that contacted him, and freed him from his prison in El Nath."

"Ossyria must be in an uproar," Pierce observed, straightening her girdle.

"We must see Alcaster of El Nath," the bishop decided, "but the people of Ellinia are not safe here."

"Neither are the people of Perion safe in their mountains, as long as Zakum's minions run free," Dances with Balrog reminded him.

"How will we transport them to Henesys and Kerning where it is safe?" the bishop wondered. The Dark Lord rolled his eyes, and pointed upward.

The crimson balrogs' fleet of spiky airships was hovering above the treetops, unattended, their pilots lying dead at the heroes' feet. The bishop laughed.

"I hope our own people don't shoot us down first."


	5. Azazel

They found Alcaster sitting quietly on a bench. El Nath's charred ruins lay around him. The town was abandoned.

"Zakum killed the four wise men of El Nath ten years ago, when he emerged from his fiery prison. They would not have saved this town from a second burning," he gestured to the black snow. The bishop knelt beside him.

"Alcaster, are you injured?"

"No. Zakum breathed fire upon El Nath and disappeared. Despite my magic, the fire spread so quickly through our wooden buildings. I think we need to invest in some concrete and steel," the old wizard cackled sardonically. Athena sighed at the heaps of smoking ash upon which snow was settling like a death shroud.

"Zakum mentioned a 'master of death' whose Messenger freed him," she said, "He freed himself the last time by using the Dark Crystals offered to the 'Holy' Rock."

"Since then, with Grendel's passing and the slaughter of our trainees in El Nath, we four wise men have been working double shifts to grant the second and third job advancement," the Dark Lord muttered.

"If Zakum can be believed, a greater force is at work here," Dances with Balrog nodded.

"Azazel," Alcaster whispered. The bishop looked sharply at him. "Grendel told me he'd return some day."

"The Angel of Death?" the bishop demanded, "Is that who I have been reading about in Grendel's library?"

Alcaster looked heavenward, his bushy white eyebrows collecting the gray ash.

"If only Grendel were alive now. But, I suppose that's why I'm still here."

The old wizard pursed his lips and began the story.

"Azazel visited our world long, long before the first wise men existed. He taught our great ancestors how to forge weapons. He even had children with mortal women. As a result, there were a great many wars, his children against ours. After Azazel left our world, his children, the giant half-angels, ruled over the weaker mortals. I believe Zakum is a direct descendant of Azazel, for he was a man before magic corrupted him in body and mind."

The four wise men crouched around Alcaster, lending their ears to this strange tale.

"It was to fight against Azazel's children that the first wise men banded together and formed the first class of fighters: warriors."

Dances with Balrog struck a fist to his own chest in respect.

"Some of these warriors formed their own groups. The first division occurred when some warriors forsook the sword and took up the bow."

Athena Pierce smiled.

"As our ancestors became worldlier and wealth flowed through the nations, the first Rogues emerged."

The Dark Lord chuckled.

"Then there came a time when magic was developed into a weapon. Before, it had only been used for rituals and ceremonies, but of course, some of Azazel's surviving children twisted the arcane energies to their own means. That is when the final class of fighters emerged – magicians."

The bishop lowered his eyes.

"Ah, it was magic that undid the world, as you must have read in Grendel's library, my very young friend."

"Yes," the bishop murmured, "Magic controlled Nature. Despite the first wise men's best intentions, the war against Azazel's children changed the heavens and the earth. Almost everyone died, except the wise men and their four clans of fighters. The weaker mortals who refused to take up the sword, the bow, the dagger or the staff perished. The meek did_not _inherit the earth."

The four wise men and Alcaster were silent for a few moments.

"And that is when your friend, the Harlequin, intervened," Alcaster looked at the bishop again, as did the rest of the wise men. The bishop shook his head.

"The Harlequin befriends no one. He just gave me a task to do, so I'm trying to fill Grendel's shoes."

"That'll take about five hundred years," the Dark Lord snorted. The bishop winced.

"Will I even live that long?" he wondered. Alcaster chuckled.

"Even longer, if the Harlequin wills it. _He_ was the one who placed limits on the power fighters can wield. The seal was especially meant for magicians, who were once able to shift the land, sky and sea at will!"

"But now Azazel is returning," Dances with Balrog grimaced, "Why?"

Alcaster ruminated, trying to remember what the oldest texts said.

"Azazel returned to our world after the war that literally changed the world. He cursed the wise men and their four fighter clans for killing almost all of his children. He would have destroyed them, too, had it not been for the Harlequin's intervention. To assuage Azazel's wrath, the Harlequin sealed the most powerful abilities of the four clans, essentially cutting them off from their fifth job advancement."

"There's a _fifth?"_Athena Pierce sputtered, "A power beyond our own?"

"Quite. That seal satisfied Azazel, but he promised to have his revenge, as all villains do."

"So now he's sent a Messenger to gauge our strength," the bishop smiled wryly, "I think he'll find us more than capable."

Alcaster sighed, shaking his head.

"Ah, the arrogance of youth. The tip of Azazel's finger could erase our world from existence, and you speak of defeating _him _so lightly?"

"We have the Harlequin on our side," the bishop argued. Alcaster harrumphed.

"You just said that the Harlequin befriends _no one. _He only intervenes when there is too much chaos in the world."

"He made _you_ draw the Surge rune to seal away Zakum, remember?" the Dark Lord prodded the bishop on the shoulder, "What makes you think he'll lift a finger to help us now?"

"He must," the bishop frowned, "He _must. _It would imbalance the cosmos to see us erased."

"You children think so highly of yourselves," Alcaster tittered, "What is one planet? It is a grain in the comprehensive ocean of the universe, where countless races inhabit countless worlds."

The four wise men got to their feet, all feeling a little smaller.

"We can't sit here talking forever," Athena said, "We have to find this Messenger of Azazel and fight it."

"There is a disturbance in the time-space continuum somewhere inside Ludibrium's clock tower," Alcaster waved his hand, "Maybe you should charge over there and find out what it is."

"How in the Maple World do you know that?" the bishop stared at him, "I sense nothing from Ludibrium!"

"You are a newborn child whose eyes have yet to open and see the world," Alcaster told the bishop matter-of-factly, "When you're _my _age, _then_ you can tell me what exists and what does not!"

"We will gather our four 'clans'," Dances with Balrog determined, "We will bring the totality of our forces against this Messenger. Let us see if mortals or one angel will inherit our world."


	6. Messenger

Fleeing from New Leaf City, Zakum appeared in the deepest level of Ludibrium's clock tower. Here, he walked past the Gatekeepers, who lowered their huge ethereal axes in respect to their superior. Zakum entered the watchtower, where tombstones lay. Here, the Messenger of Azazel spoke to him from a dark portal no wider than a human body.

"_There is a dimensional rift here, but I cannot open it on my own. As Azazel's servant, you must help me, a fellow servant."_

"**As you wish."**

Dropping his dread axe, Zakum placed his burning hands on either end of the dimensional rift, and pushed outward. It required every ounce of his physical and magical energy to force the rift in space-time to open, allowing a black knot of arcane energies to tumble through, spilling into a world not meant for its being. It formed a cloud larger than Zakum himself, encircling him with its alien presence.

"_You have done well to grant me access to this mortal plane, but you have also failed our master by falling to a mere human."_

"**He was using a Harlequin rune! Not even YOU can resist the runes!"** Zakum protested.

"_Nevertheless, you will be punished for your failure."_

Two points of glimmering blue light appeared. The Messenger was drawing Harlequin runes, a feat not even Zakum could equal!

"**STOP! What are you doing?" **Zakum roared.

"_This is what separates demons like you from the true gods. SURGE!"_

"**AAARRRGHHHH!" **the demon howled as his flaming body was once more warped and encased in the stony prison of eight arms, eight sharp blue lines crisscrossing each other appearing on the gnashing head.

"_Seal!"_

The rune, resembling an askew hourglass, teleported and bound Zakum to the Zakum Tree in El Nath's volcano once more. The Tree's chains wrapped around his stone prison, feeding off his energies to produce an Eye of Fire.

"**NOOOO!" **was Zakum's miserable cry, **"I AM A GOD! I WILL NOT BE DENIED!"**

"_You are no god," _the Messenger reminded him, _"You are a pawn, a puppet of the true gods, and shall be treated like one."_

And there the Messenger left Zakum to rant and rave in his prison of stone, metal and fire, for even the damned deserve a voice to lament their suffering.

888

Deep inside of Ludibrium's clock tower, inside the watchtower where only tombstones lay, the greatest assembling of Maple heroes were gathered to confront the deadliest threat their world had ever known. They were ranged on either side of the Messenger, who took centre stage, hovering above the tombstones as a black morass of nether energies without shape or form. Behind it was the roiling, unstable dimensional rift it had used to enter their world. Here, there was no contact with the outside world. Here, in the darkest path of Time itself, where neither Gatekeeper nor even Thanatos dared to tread, the forces of Maple World were arrayed.

"_Why do you do this? Why fight?" _the Messenger asked the multitude, vortices swirling around its formless being. Though the _thing _had no shape, yet it possessed eyes, awful white eyes that froze the soul that looked at them. The crowd assembled against it bristled with swords, arrows, daggers and staves, but there was no place for confidence here, against a foe beyond any of them. Fear marked the faces of the wise, and hatred marked the faces of the fools. Theirs was an impossible task, yet they stood defiant against this _thing _whose minions had wrought much havoc and death. Their mortal eyes accused the black, brooding spectre floating before them, its shadow a mile long, covering the tombstones with its unwelcome, alien gloom.

A flash of astral light brightened the grim proceedings. The bishop, gnarled staff in hand, walked forward. With him were the three other wise men. He felt more keenly than any of them the sickening aura emanating from this vile creature, a stain upon creation itself.

"We fight," the bishop declared, fighting back his own terror, "because there is evil in the world, and we shall not sit idly by and let it grow unchecked!"

"_There will always be evil," _the Messenger argued, _"It is as much of a fact as the night following the day."_

"We strike the balance!" the Dark Lord spoke up. "When the likes of you are vomited into creation, we're here to clean the mess you cause."

"_Why do humans strive so hard to fight against gods?"_

"Our bodies are mortal, but our spirits are _divine!"_ the bishop boomed, staring at the monster, "Or do you, with your limited powers, fail to see the immortal spark in our eyes, as we see the ruinous path to the Void in yours?"

Was it with anger or fear that the vortices of this damnable villain trembled?

"_Enough. Language can only communicate so much. Speak to me with your power!"_

Its vortices quivering, the Messenger gathered it energies. Now, faced with certain doom, the heroes of this world found their voices.

"This," one of the archmages affirmed, "is the reason I wield my staff."

"This is the reason I swing my axe," Dances with Balrog boasted.

"This is the reason I aim my arrows," Athena Pierce chimed in.

"This is the reason we are who we are," a night road whispered, fanning out her collection of throwing stars, "we exist to deal with those who would use power to tell the story of life. _We will not let you tell our story!"_

Fire, ice, lightning, arrow and throwing star split the air. Spears, daggers and swords followed soon after, hacking, stabbing and slashing. The Messenger endured this tumultuous bombardment, its vortices absorbing most of the damage while it cast a spell, runic words blazing with malevolence. The watchtower disappeared as the Messenger tore the dimensional rift wide open, ripping the divide between this world and the spiritual realm wide open, displacing all the combatants out of linear time and out of three-dimensional space, hovering in an incomprehensible, unknowable nothingness, unable to move or even speak in this ghost realm not meant for their mortal, physical bodies.

"_Perish never, rot ever in _my_ dimension. Here all the souls of the departed rest. Living flesh has no power here."_

If the Messenger had been terrible to behold before, here its diseased being wrapped around the hearts of its mortal antagonists, seeping into the cracks of the mind and breeding insanity. While the others fought against the rising tide of madness, the bishop conferred with his fellow brothers and sisters of the cloth, as they hung in the blank eternity.

"It seems," he spoke, and his words were heard quite clearly by all, shattering the otherwise limitless silence, "that our knowledge of life and death is to be tested."

"_How is it you are able to speak here? How is it that your mind is your own?" _the confounded Messenger demanded, unable to _touch _the minds of the holy warriors. A priestess explained to the Messenger and the wondering audience of their fellow adventurers.

"We are the arbiters of life _and _death. It was not lightly that the gods entrusted this power to us."

"We touch this plane all the time, oh ye of great arrogance," the bishop declared. "We call back souls from this eternal silence."

"As servants of light, we walk the darkest path," yet another bishop declared.

"Though we are mortal, we do not fear death, for we possess the will of the divine," the bishop asserted, and then called out, "Brothers and sisters, we will awake from this dark dream!"

The Messenger howled in pain as holy light broke its control over mortal hearts and minds. Its inhuman dimension fell away, reducing the rift's size by several orders of magnitude, returning all the adventurers to the (pseudo) reality deep inside Ludibrium's clock tower.

"While it is stunned, _ATTACK!" _the bishop commanded, and with a harmony and accord never seen before, the diverse adventurer cliques unleashed their most devastating blows. The Messenger, bombard by melee, ranged, magical and holy elements alike, was forced deeper into the dimensional rift from whence it came.

"_Unbelievable," _it sputtered, _"I will not permit this!"_

To the bishop's shock, the Messenger drew a Harlequin rune!'

"_ESCAPE!" _it shrieked, and all at once, it was no longer being pushed back into the dimensional rift, but heading towards the portal that would lead it to the Forgotten Passage, and beyond… to Ludibirum, all of Ossyria, and then the rest of the world! Nothing would be able to stop it!

"No!" the bishop screamed with impotent horror, reaching out with his holy magic, with his arms, with his astral projection, trying everything, anything to stop the Armageddon such a multi-dimensional being would unleash upon the world.

And then, as the adventurers were chasing the Messenger in vain, a voice misted out of the portal to the Forgotten Time.

"You have broken my law."


	7. Unseal

A white gloved hand emerged from the portal, single-handedly pushing back the chaotic assortment of energies comprising the Messenger. The latter recoiled in revulsion and naked fear, retreating to its dimensional rift.

But even that last avenue of escape was cut off as that white gloved hand drew a single rune in the air with brilliant blue light.

"Alter," that esoteric voice whispered, shutting the dimensional rift against the Messenger, who could do naught but turn now and face its tormentor, who was just then stepping out of the portal.

"Harlequin," the bishop sobbed with relief, his mortal emotions overwrought. The three other wise men raised their eyebrows in amazement. They had only heard of, and not seen, this strange being.

"There, there," the Harlequin soothed, gliding more than walking on his polished, mismatched shoes. One was black; the other was white, like his suit; one leg and breast black, the other half white. The ensemble ended with his mask, grinning through its dark and light façade with a single eyehole through which the very stuff of eternity was gazing outward, holding all the adventurers spellbound. He was no longer a skeleton, having regenerated his corporeal form for this purpose.

"You didn't need to do that," the Harlequin reprimanded the Messenger, "Using _my_runes against mortals is forbidden."

"_What part of them is mortal?" _the Messenger hissed, _"I see the light of Forever in their eyes!"_

"Child," the Harlequin sighed, "Were you so blinded by the light that you failed to _hear_ the notes of Eversing in their voices? Their _words,_ not their eyes, transcend their shells. As such, _my language_ is never to be used against these children, who hymn the divine."

"_Then I will fight them as they do; using real form!"_

"Now you are learning," the Harlequin nodded as the Messenger enfolded itself into humanoid form. Though its being was dipped in blackest Void, it was now a locatable, measurable, and most importantly, _killable_ thing, its white eyes tinged with fear.

"_Come, mortals, and I shall give you eternal rest."_

The Harlequin lifted one slender white gloved hand, and at his signal, every mortal in that place charged. The dragons of the dark knights and bishops led the assault with the fire and ice summons of the bowmasters and archmages, but the Messenger held up one hand, muttering a spell.

"_Your petty summons cannot survive the darkness. BANISHMENT!"_

At that word, every dragon and elemental summon vanished in a dark cloud. Subsequent summons were blocked by the mysterious dark cloud rolling over the area.

"It's no use," Dances with Balrog determined, "We fight him with our strength alone!"

The Messenger threw torrents of arcane energy bolts and exuded clouds of toxic fumes, but the holy bishops healed and protected their vulnerable allies. Theirs was the key assault, as their sacred might was abhorrent to the loathsome messenger of death. The Messenger caused blades to erupt from the ground itself, but the warriors broke the blades against their fortress-like armour, their spears and swords raining lethal blows against the vortices, destroying them to leave the Messenger open for attack.

Realizing its defenses were destroyed, the air became thick with dancing scythes, so the night roads and bow masters countered. Although their sight was diminished by the Messenger's dark cloud, still they launched a barrage of arrows and throwing stars into the fray, knocking away each and every scythe of the Messenger. Screaming its rage, the Messenger then caused ice to hail, fire to explode, and thunder to crack, but every element was upset and countered by the archmages, masters of the elements, who raised their staves to bring the judgment of the heavens upon the spiteful creature. The battle wore on for hours, neither side giving ground, but the Messenger was alone and the Maple heroes were many. The Harlequin stood by, all bemused, watching this drama unfold.

"_How? HOW? How are you all surviving?" _it howled, _"How do you find the strength to endure death itself?"_

The bishop, clasping his hands in prayer one last time, answered the foul creature, "This is _our _story."

Upon summoning the seraph of Genesis, brilliant light blasted through the Messenger's being, transfixing it on a beam of pure clear light. The herald of death faltered, falling on one knee. The Maple heroes cheered, renewing their attack on its prone form. In its great frustration and inevitable defeat against this righteous onslaught, the Messenger in its insanity drew one more rune.

"_Destroy their souls… RAIN!"_

Without movement between where he had been standing and where he was now, the Harlequin held up one hand against the Messenger and drew a rune in reply.

"For disobeying me a second time, I will destroy your mind. _Pain."_

When the Harlequin drew the higher rune, the lesser rune of Rain was completely erased. The Maple heroes and the wise men fell back as the Messenger jerked violently, returning to its formless shape. The dark cloud lifted, allowing light to prevail, but the Harlequin was not satisfied.

"For refusing to fight them with real form until I intervened, I will destroy your shell. _Vain."_

The rune was drawn, and the Messenger's energies dissipated to such a huge extent that only a tiny, quivering ball of hate rested in the Harlequin's white gloved hand.

"Return to your master, and inform him that if _he_ decides to contest my authority, he will answer to _me."_

The Harlequin blew through his mask, and the Messenger, reduced to a speck, blew away into nothingness. The Harlequin then considered the heroes gathered there.

"That is not to say,_he _will not come. The time of his coming is at hand, and he shall judge this world."

"How are we to fight against the _master _of that thing?" a dark knight demanded. The mask seemed to smile.

"You have proven your limits, and now I will break them. Henceforth, a _fifth _job advancement is available to all who achieve your level of mastery. Heroes, you shall become Champions. Your mastery of melee combat will be unmatched, and your defense will be so formidable that neither the wrath of heaven nor hell will shake you."

The Harlequin turned his head.

"Paladins, you will become Arbiters. You will cross the divide between physical and magical power, making both their strengths your own, with none of their weaknesses."

He nodded to the last warrior class.

"Dark Knights, you will become Dragon Masters. The mightiest of legendary beasts will fight at your command, and your spears will pierce the heavens themselves."

He turned to bless the warriors of darkness.

"Night Roads, you shall become Ninja Masters. Every technique and minion of the Dark Arts will be at your command, but this deadliest of all paths is fraught with peril. Become wise lest your great power corrupts you."

He chuckled at their thieving counterparts.

"Shadowers shall delve deeper into darkness to become Slayers. The company you will keep and your assassination techniques will cause demons to tremble in fear."

He waved a slim hand in benediction to the archers.

"Bow Masters shall become Strikers. Your arrows will rain as thick as raindrops upon your enemies. Crossbow Masters will become Dreadnaughts. You exchange quantity for quality – one of your bolts will slay armies at a time. Should you summon them; the Birds of Paradise will come to your aid with heavenly wrath upon your enemies."

At last he pondered the predicament of the magicians.

"Ahhh, Archmages. Your title will be Ancients, for you will wield the ancient forbidden magic that I sealed long ago to prevent the world's destruction. Fire Ancients, you will not cast fire so much as you will set the sky ablaze. You will not spread poison so much as you will plague the lands. Ice Ancients, the coldness of the Void will manifest on earth, freezing the globe in your grip if you so desire. The lurid Levin of the Aegis will obey your command, thundering so deeply that the earth itself will crack open at your fury. Besides mastering the elements, the Elemental Titans will obey your summons, heeding your every wish to create or annihilate."

He turned to the bishop, and inclined his head.

"Bishops. Yours is the most fearful responsibility of all, for you will be closest to the gods themselves. Bearing the title of Cardinals, you will judge who is worthy of life and death. No darkness will stand before you. A company of heroes with _you_ among them shall become a company of gods. The Angels themselves will heed your summons, bearing you and your comrades up on their wings."

The Harlequin was about to raise his hands, and then he remembered something.

"Ah, of course. I almost left out those who do not follow a path; those who shun the job advancements. I tell you, these wanderers are closer to _my_style than anyone else. If these jobless misfits desire it, they can become Rune Masters, wielding a power even greater than magic itself – my own runes!"

Everyone present gaped, and cursed themselves for choosing the easier path of job advancement.

The Harlequin lifted his hands.

"Now shall mortal limits be broken. Now shall _my _power enable these vessels of flesh to attain a might to contest the gods, lest the gods destroy them!"

And so the Harlequin drew runes in rapid succession, too quickly for their eyes to follow his artistic hands which made movements too delicate and precise for clumsy human hands to mimic. As his hands moved, their vision sharpened. Even the mightiest heroes, who had achieved the two hundredth level, felt opening within them a void of potential that surpassed every human expectation and demanded to be filled. They felt humbled, children standing before an infinite ocean.

"It is finished. The_three hundredth level_ waits for you. The limits of your life force and magical energy have been _doubled._ To increase your potential any further would put you on even footing with the masters of the universe. Now, prepare for Azazel's coming, lest his judgment tip against your favour."

Without another word, that enigmatic being vanished with a hand flourish. In his place, a neat, simple doorway outlined with blue light showed another world awaiting the adventurers.


	8. Doorway

Months later…

"Aren't you coming?"

Manji tarried beside the doorway. The bishop shook his head.

"I am not ready."

"This portal leads to the lands beyond the great sea, further than our airships have ever flown. There are civilizations we've never even met before and lands completely untouched by our feet. Of course, there are creatures that defy the imagination, with fearful strength surpassing Zakum himself. The people who live in these foreign lands know more about the old days than we do. They will help us achieve the next advancement."

The bishop looked away. Manji gestured towards the door.

"You can look and plainly see a path you have never walked before. Countless thousands have gone before us. Why do you stay here? Aren't you curious?"

The bishop smiled at the samurai.

"Call me nostalgic, but I feel rather attached to this world. I know that a new world awaits, a world I keep hearing about, but I don't feel the need to explore. At least, not yet. I'm not ready."

"What are you talking about, you young buffoon?"

The bishop received a solid conk on the head from Alcaster's staff, knocking his miter clear off.

"Ow! What are you doing, sneaking up on me like that, old man?"

"Don't be an idiot, my very young friend. Athena Pierce, the Dark Lord and even Dances with Balrog have gone exploring this new world and making new friends, going on fantastic adventures into realms never before seen. What are you doing here, gathering dust? Go! I may be old, but I'm not dead yet!"

With that outburst, Alcaster strode directly through the portal and they saw him walking along the pathway on the other side. Manji picked his jaw off the ground.

"Well, so long," the samurai said and followed. The bishop rubbed his head, sighed, and turned away from the doorway.

"Wait for me!" he called out to them, picked up his miter and ran through the door.

888THE BEGINNING888


End file.
